The girl backed toward the door, shrinking away from the figure in front of her. The expressionless one, with flowing red hair and the object of her imminent death in her hand. The hotel door would be the last thing she ever felt, and she tried to memorize every possible thing about the moment, the smell of alcohol, the plush carpet beneath her bare feet, the solid, unmoving handle below her fingers. It would do her no good in a few seconds, but it offered a comfort, no matter how small. The trigger, she could see it being pulled and everything went from painfully slow to speeding with the velocity of the bullet, she had no time for flashbacks or even another breath and everything stopped.
Yes, he was horrible, he was greedy and vile and tainted everything he touched, but he did not deserve this. He shouldn't die this way, not at the hand of this cruel demon. Her flaming red hair and green eyes betrayed her danger, she was not just a pretty face. So he lay there, knowing not what to do, being tied up and bound with his own jacket, being beat with a leg of a chair. Nobody would care of his death, he would not be investigated or would his killer be brought to justice, not in this country. Maybe not even in another. Even if anyone had cared, she would not be found, she had struck him unaware, a deadly and silent assassin. Another blow came, then they sped up, coming in quick succession. She knew that he was at her mercy, she could do whatever pleased her, and so she did. Finally, the last blow came, crushing his skull from his temple, piercing his brain, ending him. He shuddered out a final breath, rattling his body, before the blood poured from him.
She stood back in the crowd, close enough to know when her job was done, but far enough to slip out. The black silk of her dress constricted her chest and slunk down to pool at her feet. The glass of champagne in her hand was full, but she would not drink, not yet. Then, the figure she had set her eyes upon fell, sputtering, body wracked by what she knew to be poison. Nobody would know it was her, she was too crafty, too perfect. She would not slip up.
"Cheers." She whispered, clinking a nonexistent glass in the air, proud of her work but unaffected by it.
The small figure made her way through the crowd, so well he almost lost her, but the flaming curls betrayed her, framing her face and calling like a beacon. He sped off to follow her exit, bow strung tight and kevlar and leather twisting. He had caught her, hurrying out of the mansion, switching shoes.
He came up from behind her, knife pressed to her throat, but he had underestimated her, she immediately grabbed his arm and swept his legs out from under him as if the knife was not there. Maybe she was not afraid of death, maybe she was as indifferent to it as everything else, or maybe, she wanted to die, maybe this was too much.
"Nice try." The red headed enchantress growled. A gun materialized into her hand, coming from under her dress the archer suspected.
He was quick to string his bow, and both ended up with weapons drawn at the same time.
She fired, most likely expecting her bullet to reach him before the arrow reached herself, but he had a trick up his sleeve. He let the arrow fly, when it exploded, a foam covering flew out from the tip, encasing the arrow and the assassin, hardening.
"Too bad." He smirked, string the bow again, he had strict orders to kill her. S.H.I.E.L.D. demanded it, but he looked into her defiant face. He could see all the cracks under her skin, all the times she killed and all the times it broke her. She died with her victims, he knew, because he had been her. She had red on her ledger, and it might never go away, for she could not fix the past, but she could change the future. So he lowered his bow and she fell apart.
That was why she had to save him, free him of Loki. The god…maybe he was right, maybe her ledger was too red to wipe out, maybe she couldn't be saved, but damn it she could save someone else. Yes, she was a liar and a killer, and yes, she worked in the service of liars and killers, but doing wrong in the name of right was better than doing nothing and she believed that, with all her being. She had to, for she was worthless and life was nothing if that was not true. So she hoped, and believed and she would save Clint. If it was the last thing she did she would save him.
She was going to die that night, she had promised herself that. Whether it by her hand or another, she could have beat him, put up more of a fight, but she was tired. Her soul not as black and indifferent as everyone thought. Clint saved the little spider, and his debt would not go unpaid.
A/N If you couldn't tell, the story was about Black Widow and Hawkeye. I just wanted to write about the Widow's faceless victims and how Clint had saved her from the abyss. Leave a review if you can, I enjoy reading them and I will reply, promise. If you have a prompt you'd like me to write for a character or fandom or a story, please message me about it or review. Or just send me something if you'd just like a chat! :) Have a lovely day!